“People often talk about how what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And I think, sometimes, what doesn't kill you makes you tired” - Dylin Hardcastle
The dappled morning light found its way through gaps in the palms as I walked out to the car, my mind still hazy from the late night antics. It was the end of a long weekend with friends to celebrate a bucks – preceding the marriage to come in a month’s time. It was also a great excuse for all of us to catch up; a rare feat as we all approached 30. I’d managed to convince everyone to turn their phones off for a few days to make the most of our time together without distractions. All except one complied. He spent the weekend providing vague yet cautious warnings for what was to come. I could never have expected what was to come when I turned my phone on.
“DOMESTIC TRAVEL BAN IMPOSED” read the headline on ABC News. A few hours later, as I headed north on the road home, I joined an online call with colleagues only to be told I’d lost my job effective immediately. I wasn’t yet familiar with the novel Coronavirus. If only I were to know what was to come.
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My personal experience through the pandemic was relatively uneventful in the scheme of things. We had an incredible run of waves through the winter on the North Coast, I was living in a place where I could sit up and check the surf, and I’d only just met the woman who — five years on — remains by my side. Our beginnings owing in some part to the pandemic that raged across the world.
As we collectively became well-versed in contact tracing, the reliability of PCR vs RAT tests, QR-coding our lives and watching daily press conferences to pass the time, it showed the remarkable ability of people to adapt and change given the impetus. We watched as dolphins returned to the canals of Venice and air travel (and pollution) ground to a halt. It made many of us wonder if climate change action could bring about the same results (Spoiler: it doesn’t, yet).
But as things seemed to be on the up, and I thought I’d come out relatively unscathed, Dad went down with his first round of COVID. After a history of asthma, the virus wasn’t kind to him. He suffered severely — although never quite enough to be hospitalised — and endured night sweats that would sometimes involve four of five changes of clothes. It ravaged him as he came down from years of caring for his elderly mum, flying to Sydney almost fortnightly for the better part of two years. That she passed before the arrival of COVID-19 was a small mercy.
It reared its head again in the following years. From memory the extreme stress of the flood events — and its impact on Dad’s business, employees and his work with local theatre company NORPA — the virus took hold yet again, refusing to relent. The battle continued into 2023 and although he was never formally diagnosed we have little doubt he was suffering through a war of attrition with Long COVID. Having myself just exited a short week of sickness, I am reminded of the way in which being physically compromised can invade the psyche; that a mere week of struggle can feel like much longer. I can’t begin to imagine how years in the trenches must have felt.
Dr Lisa Sanders from Yale University wrote an article about depression and anxiety in Long COVID. Here she highlights the links between the virus and the mind,
Research suggests that as many as 90% of individuals hospitalized with COVID-19 and 25% of non-hospitalized adults experience at least one brain or mind-related symptom, including fatigue, headache, sleep disturbances, depression, or anxiety, six months after the illness.
She goes on to discuss its impact on serotonin, often dubbed the ‘natural mood booster’
“Scientists comparing blood samples from hundreds of individuals both with and without Long COVID discovered that patients experiencing persistent Long COVID symptoms had low levels of serotonin.”
While it’s not a stretch to see the link between sickness and its impact on mood, Saunders goes on to suggest that there were instances in which the virus directly affected the brain by,
“causing damage to two types of cells crucial for brain activity and repair: neurons (the brain cells) and glial cells (the support cells). This damage may contribute to such symptoms as fatigue, brain fog, memory issues, as well as depression and anxiety.”
In June 2023, the United States Department of Health and Human Services warned that Long COVID had "devastating effects on the mental health of those who experience it, as well as their families," stemming not only from the illness itself but also from “social isolation, financial insecurity, caregiver burnout, and grief.” I’ll never forget the phone call I had with my Mum in the winter of 2023 where she told me, completely dumbfounded, that she didn’t recognise who the person was she was living with.
Saunders concludes her piece for Yale Medicine with some final words.
“Depression and anxiety are two of the most common symptoms of Long COVID. While many may think it is reasonable to be depressed or anxious when you continue to feel bad weeks, months, or even years after an infection, research suggests that for some of these patients, the depression or anxiety isn’t caused by Long COVID but is, instead, part of it.”
It is something my family and I have discussed on multiple occasions. Did something get missed? The nature of chronic illnesses is the difficulty in matching symptoms to diagnosis, and given the very general nature of symptoms like depression and anxiety, can be challenging to find the root cause. This was potentially compounded by the fact that Dad’s long term GP retired during this time. A doctor without a case history, and a good understanding of a person’s background and context, may find it more challenging to read between the lines and support nuanced diagnoses.
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The last time I ever saw Dad he was sick. Again. As we stood round the kitchen bench my partner innocently suggested he have a lemon & ginger tea. “I need something a lot stronger than that,” he responded in a defeated tone.
He sat on the couch, clearly frustrated at the sickness but remained engaged in conversation and his classic, unique humour. Given everything, he was still a pleasure to be around. He tore through the new Colm Tóibín book in less than 24 hours. I held my tongue that evening when he had a glass of wine as we watched the rugby, conceding it was a small but fair indulgence given his state. We laughed and joked together. I even told him after a Wallabies victory that maybe I’d concede and finally start watching the rugby again.
After his death my mum remained steadfast in her belief that he was never the same after devastating bouts of COVID. It may not have been the only factor but it was surely a key influence. Writing this now gives me little solace — it is far too late. But it gives me a new kind of empathy for people suffering under chronic illness, be it of the mind or the body. While cancer remains the ultimate “battle” in contemporary medical narratives, stigma shrouds the many other chronic illnesses that people wage war against, sometimes for their entire lives.
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Late last year, I found myself visiting someone in hospital after an elective surgery. I got chatting to the friendly nurse and our conversation eventually turned to COVID. “You wouldn’t believe how many people are coming in with heart problems in their 30s since the pandemic,” she said. “I’ve been a nurse for 40 years – I don’t need a scientist to tell me there’s a link there.”
In 2025 the pandemic has surely dissolved from the collective consciousness of most. Understandably so, given the many challenges we face on multiple fronts. But it is a cautionary tale that suggests that what doesn’t kill us doesn’t always make us stronger, sometimes it just leaves us too tired to go on.
I've had a few interesting chats with mates in the world of hospitals and medicine - it feels like we haven't got round to a stage of reflection about this chapter of history, with all its strange outcomes and nuances.
Powerful mate